


Better

by walkthegale



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Beau has a thing for women who could break her, Episode Tag, Explicit Consent, F/F, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Hair-pulling, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Smut, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthegale/pseuds/walkthegale
Summary: "Wanna stay with me? You can sneak out in the morning if you want and it won't be weird."





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Campaign 2, Episode 29.

’Duce says they’re going to be ok. They’re still unconscious, all of them, and shit, they all three still look knocked to hell and back, even after the healing he did for them, but he says they’re gonna be ok and maybe he’s super fucking weird but he’s a cleric so he knows this shit.

Fuck though, Beau can’t keep looking at Jester’s blood-smeared forehead, or how Fjord doesn’t even look like himself without his personality animating his face, or the way Yasha’s arm is still at kind of a weird angle, even after they laid her so carefully on the bed.

They saved the fucking day and their friends’ lives too. They’re fucking heroes, right? Beau’s whole body feels like it wants to vibrate right out of her skin, like she doesn’t remember how to sit still.

She can’t open her pack, because Molly’s stupid fucking cards are in there and she can’t look at those either, so she goes down to the bar and buys a drink, and it helps, so she buys another.

She’s draining the last of it when someone lands on the seat across from her and she startles, dropping her mug onto the table with a thud. Keg leans her axe against a table leg to one side, her warhammer against the other, and signals for another drink for each of them.

“First time I’ve managed to sneak up on anyone,” she says, not quite looking at Beau.

Beau snorts. “I knew you were there.” She looks up and finds Keg grinning at her sideways.

“Uh huh.”

“Fuck you.”

Keg laughs. Beau saw her cry earlier today, and there’s something similar in both.

Their drinks arrive, and Keg downs hers in one, which, Beau has to admit, is pretty awesome. She takes a fortifying gulp from her own tankard.

“Hey,” she says, dropping her voice low. “I, uh, meant what I said earlier. You know, if you want.” She could put more effort into finding a better line, something smooth, but given how Keg’s been looking at her today, she’s pretty confident with this one already.

Keg glances at her quickly, and the undisguised desire in it leaves Beau just a little breathless. “Yes,” Keg says in a rush. “Yes, yes I definitely do, cool, yes, I do… want that.”

Beau can’t help the slow grin that spreads across her face. She thinks about playing it cool, about making Keg work for it, but then she thinks about how fucking hot Keg looked back at the Sour Nest, the light of battle sparking in her eyes, the sheer, raw force of her blows.

Beau doesn’t play it cool. Beau leans across the table and kisses Keg. She tastes like booze and cigarettes, mostly, and a brief rasp of her stubble against Beau’s face is unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Her mouth is warm and delightfully insistent and it’s a moment before Beau can make herself pull away.

“Your room?” Keg says eventually, and Beau can only nod. They make it out of the bar before the elf who served their drinks can throw them out for lewd behaviour, which Beau is pretty sure she’ll be glad of in the morning.

In Beau’s room, with the door shut behind them, Beau kisses Keg again, hard, and sets about relieving her of her armour. Keg starts to help but Beau is ahead of her, nimble fingers finding the buckles and ties with unerring accuracy, plate coming loose in pieces and lifting away effortlessly. She realises Keg has stopped contributing entirely and is watching her with an eyebrow raised.

Beau grins. “Not my first time.”

She carries on, laying aside the final piece of metal before moving on to the travel-worn clothing beneath. Keg, stripped of all her layers, is stocky and solid, all heavy muscles and toughened angles. Beau can see her strength, all built right there into the fabric of her body. She has seen that strength made into rage and fury and death, and now all she knows is how badly she wants to feel Keg’s power put to other uses.

Like she can read Beau’s mind, Keg obliges, leaning up and kissing her fiercely and pushing her back towards the bed, catching her and holding her fast when Beau pretends to stumble.

Beau remembers being lifted high and held in Yasha’s arms like she weighed nothing at all. She remembers the way Jester’s muscles shifted under her skin as she rowed them down the river.

Keg’s mouth on hers, right _here_ and present, calling at, no, _demanding_ her attention, and Beau gives it willingly. They’re still moving towards the bed, and Keg tugs at Beau’s clothes as they go, less deft than Beau had been but just as determined, leaving shirt and belts and wraps in a trail across the floor. Something rips as it comes off but Beau doesn’t care because Keg’s tough, battle-scarred hands are suddenly running over her bare skin, and Beau wants her to do that now, again, _more_.

She shimmies out of her pants as the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed and she collapses onto it with Keg’s full weight landing on top of her, warm and delicious. Keg is kissing her jaw now, her neck, her breasts, and Beau arches her body into it with an enthusiastic moan, her nails digging into Keg’s broad shoulders.

When Keg sits up, astride Beau’s waist, Beau gets another good look at her, the way every single part of her body seems compact and honed and perfectly suited to a life of hitting shit very hard with heavy weaponry. The way a patchwork of scars map that life across her skin, telling a story Beau might ask her for more of one day when they’ve both had significantly more to drink. Beau’s body, lean and lithe and shaped by the choices she makes and the ones that were made for her, carries scars of its own, and Keg traces one with her finger as she rolls her hips against Beau’s stomach.

Beau runs appreciative hands over Keg’s short, sturdy thighs, up the sides of her stomach to cup Keg’s breasts in her hands, a surprising soft weight that she just wants to bury herself in. She grins up at Keg, pressing her own legs together, desperately seeking some kind of friction and trying not to give herself away by squirming. “I guess you got me,” she says, her voice coming out gruff and guttural.

“I guess I do.” There’s a confidence in Keg’s tone that wasn’t there before, and Beau knows then that she called it right. Knows that she and Keg are both going to get exactly what they want.

She lets out a yelp when Keg flips her over onto her front, face down on the mattress, and then a long groan when Keg’s kisses down her back turn into the drag and nip of teeth, and a bruising, sucking bite at the top of her ass that’s going to leave a mark to be proud of.

She parts her legs, lifts her hips hopefully, but finds herself with Keg’s knee on her back, pushing her back down into the mattress. “Wait for it,” Keg’s voice hums low against her ear, sending a shiver through the very centre of her.

Her hands skim Beau’s ass, play over her lower back, the tops of her thighs, wandering close then drawing away again until Beau is all but humping the bed in frustration. Finally, finally, just as Beau is sure she can’t take it for another moment, Keg’s fingers find their mark and Beau whimpers with sheer relief. She’s slick and wet under Keg’s touch - callused fingertips pressing firm circles over her clit. She’s getting close, but it’s not quite… not quite enough. She’s trying to think but she just needs to feel and it’s _almost_ enough sensation to keep her brain from tumbling over itself. Almost enough to stop her thinking about Yasha’s hands, and Jester’s mouth, and both of them bound and gagged and senseless and bloodied on the floor because she lost them, because she took so fucking long to find them. Almost enough to wipe out the sight of Mollymauk’s body going into the ground.

Beau focuses on the press of Keg’s knee on her back, on Keg’s fingers that feel so fucking good, tries to find the place where her thoughts stop racing and her body takes over. She shifts, writhes, looking for more purchase against Keg’s hand, and in response Keg grabs a fistful of Beau’s hair and tugs her head back sharply.

Beau lets out a string of colourful curses.

Keg’s voice is hoarse now too, her fingers keeping rhythm over Beau’s clit. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Beau bucks against Keg’s hand. “Ow. Fuck you.” She’s punctuating her words with gasps that are almost groans. “No. Don’t. You. Fucking. Stop.”

Hot pain blooming across her scalp, a knee digging into her back, and Keg’s relentless fingers, and Beau comes hard, swearing, a full-body convulsion that leaves her limp against the bed, panting for breath.

She has time to mumble a heartfelt “fuck” into the sheets before Keg rolls her over again and positions herself between her legs.

“Ok?” Keg asks her roughly, looking down at her with eyes glazed dark and a sheen of sweat apparent on her own skin. She pushes one thick finger easily inside of Beau, and Beau feels herself flutter involuntarily around it.

“I’m, uh, yeah I’m good,” Beau manages to say. “Your turn now?” She aims for a playful tone but Keg slides another finger into her cunt and her voice breaks partway through.

“Not yet,” Keg tells her. She adds a third finger, and then, slowly, a fourth, and Beau feels stretched wide open until it almost hurts. No, she’s pretty sure it does actually hurt, but it’s a good, full pain, one that makes her clamp down and shudder.

“Fuck, Keg! Shit!”

Keg leans down, her chin scratching against Beau’s inner thighs, and swipes the flat of her tongue over Beau’s clit, once, twice, and again, until Beau comes again in a blinding rush, clenching tight around the spread of Keg’s fingers, her own fists scrabbling at the sheet beneath her.

Keg waits until the aftershocks die away, then slips her fingers out of Beau’s cunt, leaving her feeling strangely bereft.

Her breathing almost as laboured as Beau’s own, Keg smiles. It’s about as sincere, as open, as Beau has ever seen from her. “You’re really fucking hot,” Beau tells her.

“I was about to say the same thing.” Keg’s smile takes on a wicked edge. “My turn now.”

She moves up Beau’s body, arranges herself on her knees with one leg on either side of her head, and Beau finds herself faced with the wiry tangle of hair between Keg’s legs. She grins, uses one hand to steady Keg above her, the other to clear the way for her mouth, and sets to work avidly.

Keg is soft and musky against Beau’s tongue, and it drives everything else from her head. Beau’s world contracts until nothing is left but the taste of Keg, the heat and scent of her, the way she moves above her, shifting herself back and forth, riding Beau’s mouth with increasing abandon, her hips jerking on either side of Beau’s face. She gives little grunts of pleasure that turn into whimpers when Beau hits just the right spot, just the right speed, every twitch of her body telling Beau _now_ and _there_ and _more_. 

Beau loves this. Fuck, she really loves this.

She feels the very moment Keg comes, quiet but for a sudden indrawn gasp, all her muscles tensing at once as she takes what she needs.

She collapses next to Beau afterwards, buries her head in Beau’s shoulder and catches her breath. When she shows her face again, Beau’s skin is damp, like maybe Keg has been crying, but they neither of them mention it.

This time it’s Beau who slides her leg over Keg’s waist, Beau who holds Keg in place and fucks her until she hardly knows her own name.

By the time they call it quits, they’re both beyond exhausted and sleep will claim them without time for thought or the danger of dreams.

Maybe Keg will be gone in the morning, her armour scraping against itself as she tries to sneak out of the door before Beau stirs. Or maybe she won’t. It occurs to Beau that she’d like Keg to meet the others if they wake up. _When_ they wake up.

Beau looks for a moment at Keg’s sleeping form before she drifts off herself, and something floats hazily through her brain.

_Maybe we’re leaving this one better than we found her too._

**Author's Note:**

> I’m walkthegale over on tumblr too if you want to come say hi!


End file.
